Genderbent
by sapphire blue-ruby red roses
Summary: After an uneventful night of drinking with Britain and Japan that America can hardly remember, he woke up a member of the opposite sex. How did he get that way? And more importantly, how is he going to get back? references to multiple ships, rating for language
1. Chapter 1: From Male to Female

**Okay, before we get into the story, I'm going to tell/warn you know, I am an UsCan/AmeCan shipper so get over it now or please get out of my story because the main pairing may not end up being AmeCan, but there is a lot of reference to it. Haha, so yeah, have fun otherwise :D**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters**

Chapter 1: From Male to Female

"MATTIE!" a high-pitched voice screeched as something was flung against Canada's front door, "Mattie, let me in now! MATTIE!" Banging ensued, ringing through Canada's house and making his windows rattle in their frames.

Canada jumped, nearly stabbing himself in the back of his throat with his toothbrush. He sputtered, coughing up the remnants of his toothpaste before jumping as another round of banging echoed up to him.

"Mattie, let me in now! This is important!" the shrill feminine voice screeched again, on the border line of becoming hysterical.

Canada cautiously made his way downstairs, taking care not to make any noise that would alert his unexpected visitor that he was home. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his pajamas as he looked out the peephole. He didn't see anyone. "Who's there? The only person who calls me Mattie is…" he muttered as he cracked his door open.

A female rising only to his chin slammed the door open, throwing Canada to the floor. Sandy blonde hair trailed down the girl's back, ending in gentle curls at her waist. A white button up shirt and brown bomber jacket hung open revealing her breasts and a pair of American flag boxers slipping down her pale hips.

The door swung shut behind her. Canada sputtered, his eyes going wide and face growing scarlet red at the nearly naked girl.

"Mattie, you **have **to help me. I'm a fucking chick. I have boobs," the girl shouted, grabbing her breasts, "And a vagina! Look!" She pulled down her boxers, letting them pool around her ankles.

Canada's ears began to burn. He slapped a hand over his eyes, peaking at the girl's face through his fingers. "Who are you? W-why are you n-n-naked?" he asked, voice trembling.

The girl went still. "Dude, don't be stupid," the girl spat, blue eyes narrowing, "It's me, your brother…" She paused, pursing her lips. "Er, maybe your sister now. It's me, America. Alfred F. Jones." The girl stared down at him, her hands on her bare hips like being naked meant nothing to her.

Canada fought to keep his eyes from travelling down to the girl's exposed womanhood. "Excuse me, um, can you, uh, pull up your…boxers please and button up your shirt? Please?" He closed his fingers, struggling to his feet, trying not to overturn anything.

The self-proclaimed America just stood there, staring at poor Canada without so much as batting an eyelash at his request. "Dude, don't be a pussy. You've seen me naked plenty of times especially when we're drunk and you get hor-"

"Stop!" Canada shouted though it hardly got above a loud whisper, "How can I know you're actually America and not just some girl wearing clothes like his and who talks like him?"

The girl sighed in exasperation. "Do I really have to go into your hidden birthmarks and mine, and your kinks?" she asked, rolling her eyes at the ceiling, "Let's see, first you always call me Al when we're alone –meaning we're in a house or something, not anywhere outside or in public-. You have a birthmark on the inside of your thigh so close to your dick that even your underwear covers it. I have a birthmark on my stomach just below my waistband and you like to leave a hickey over it on the occasions when we fuck. It's right here." She pushed her shirt back more and pointed at a dark brown spot before she went back to ticking things off on her fingers. "You actually love handcuffs, especially the kinds that have no fur and can easily leave bruises. You're actually kind of a sadist/masochist-"

Canada put up his hand, bringing the girl to a stop. "Okay, I believe you," he said in a slightly mortified voice, "But if you are America, how exactly did you get like…this?" He motioned to her with his free hand, still refusing to remove his hand from over his eyes.

Again, America sighed. "Dude, stop with the 'if' crap, it's really me, and I don't fucking know. I just woke up like this! And put your hand down to look at me! It's getting annoying!" Her voice was edging back towards hysterical as she began to pace, her movements inhibited just the slightest by the boxers still around her ankles.

Canada took in a deep breath letting it out slowly to try and calm himself. Slowly, he lowered his hand and took in the girl before him. The just faded blush resurfaced with a vengeance, but he forced himself to leave his eyes uncovered. "Do you remember what happened before you went to bed last night?" he asked calmly in hopes that it would calm his companion.

"No, not really! All I remember is having a few drinks with Japan and Britain," America explained, biting her thumbnail in agitation, "Fucking hell. Why am I a chick? Mattie, why aM I A CHICK?!" She turned on his, throwing her arms out to the sides and yelling again.

Canada sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I don't know, Al, but you need to calm down, please."

"Calm down? CALM DOWN?! How the hell do I calm the fuck down?! I'm a fucking chick with a vage and boobs instead of a dick and pecks!" America shouted angrily, turning to burn two coin-sized holes into Canada by her glare, "Tell me to calm down again and I will cut off your dick and make you a chick too." She pointed menacingly at him, her eye twitching.

"Okay, I won't tell you to calm down, but-" Canada began before he was cut off abruptly by the ringing of his cellphone.

"Is that the Exorcist theme song?" America asked, her eyebrow quirking at him, "What are you? An old, shriveled up recluse?"

"I save that ringtone for England and France," Canada explained, fumbling for his cell on the kitchen counter.

America paled at that. "I suddenly feel the need to throw up," she muttered, pressing a hand to her mouth.

Canada pressed his finger to his lips as he slid his phone open. "Hello?"

Even from where she stood, America could hear France's lecherous voice and England yelling at him. "_Shut up! Canada, have you seen America at all today?_" England asked.

Both Canada and America stiffened. "Uh, no, no, I can't say I have," he answered possibly too quickly, but neither of the men on the other line seemed to notice. America jumped into action, pulling up her boxers and buttoning up her shirt until the top two buttons. She moved like there was a fire at her back.

"_Well, we're calling a World Meeting. I couldn't get a hold of America and neither could anyone else. Could you tell him?_" England asked. Before Canada could answer, he said, "_Thanks. See you two at the meeting. France, get off of my table, you git!_" The resounding click made both of the room's occupants jump.

"Shit!" America shouted, whirling back on Canada with frantic eyes, "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! I can't go to the World Meeting looking like this. I can't have Russia and Iggy and Japan seeing me like this!"

Canada's eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "America, exactly how much of a man whore are you? Well, I guess slut would be the correct term now."

America shook her head and spread her hands, looking at Canada like he was stupid. "Exactly what does that have to do with anything? Who cares how much I sleep around? And by the way, you have no right to talk," she said, shoving a finger in his direction, "All of you are just as bad as I am."

"Okay, okay, can't argue against that. Anyway, you can't just skip out on the World Meeting, Al. It'll be more suspicious if you don't turn up and pretend to be someone different," Canada said with another heavy sigh, his blush finally beginning to fade now that America was completely covered.

America stared at her brother, her jaw going slack. She stood there for what felt like an hour before she let out a howl of anger and stomped off towards the door cussing like a sailor. Her language got more colorful with each of her footsteps.

"Wait! Where are you going?" Canada called frantically, grabbing a pair of pants and a shirt from a laundry basket, and stuffing his feet into a pair of shoes as America shoved her way through the door. The sunlight hit her, illuminating the gold in her hair and bringing color to her skin. Canada felt his heart skip a beat and the blush return with a vengeance.

She paused on the walkway, staring up to the sun, her fists clutched at her sides. "I'm going home to get some damn clothes!" She stormed off again, taking off at a sprint towards her home. This time she didn't stop when Canada called after her.

…..

"Fuck, it's not here. God dammit!" America rifled through a drawer, throwing clothing to the floor. She was surrounded by small hills of clothing that was growing larger with every drawer.

Canada pursed his lips as he watched his sister throw clothes around her room. "So, um, why do you have girl clothes here?" he asked cautiously, setting aside his pajamas, folding the discarded clothes and setting them aside in a pile.

America gave an exasperated sigh. "If you can't figure it out then I'm not going to tell you," she retorted, but told him only a few moments later. Canada had to hold back his laughter at how his once brother was slowly turning into a girl. "Well, awhile back, I met this girl at a bar, and she accidently went home in some of my clothes afterwards so I still have her clothes." She shrugged like it was no big deal and it happened all of the time.

Canada was opening his mouth to retort when America shouted out in triumph making him jump and knock over his newly formed stack of clothing.

"Found them!" she crowed happily, a wide smile brightening her face. What she held up made Canada gasp in horror. She held up a pair of short shorts and then an American flag bikini. "I'm all set!"

"What?! No! You can't wear that! That's not even considered clothing. Find something else!" Canada protested, jumping to his feet even as America began to strip down, throwing her clothes onto the Queen-sized bed.

She was already pulling on the bikini bottom and pulling up the shorts. "Why not? My tits are covered and so is my vage. What is there to complain about?" she asked as she tied the bathing suit around her neck. "Wow, they make this look a lot easier than it is." America struggled to tie the strings at her back, straining to get the knot to stay.

"W-what? Why not?" Canada sputtered, "W-well because your whole stomach is showing and, and, those shorts don't even go to mid-thigh! You know how some of the other nations are." He searched for more reasons why America should have changed, but he couldn't come up with anything else. Sighing loudly, he grabbed the strings of America's bikini and tied them.

"So what if they're a bit skimpy? I'll get something from Hungary or someone. It's summer over here so I have a legitimate reason to be almost naked. We always dress like this here as you well know," America said, shrugging on her bomber jacket and stuffing her feet into a pair of black combat boots without any socks.

Canada threw his hands up in the air. "I give up. I know I'm not going to convince you," he said in exasperation, "I think we should head out if you're done then."

America looked around her destroyed bedroom, her lips pursed. "Yeah, I'm done," she said, and stomped down the stairs.

**Okay, so here's the first chapter. I'm really not sure what the main ship is going to be yet, and I'm still debating on how he got that way. Um, so, I realize America and Canada were probably a bit OOC closer to the end so sorry for that. I think America since he is a she now would speak a bit differently, but I'm going to try to get them more into character in the next chapter.**

**Review please! :D**


	2. Chapter 2: World Meeting

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia**

Chapter 2: World Meeting

"Canada, who is that scrumptious little darling you've brought with you today?" France asked, grinning lecherously as he wrapped his arm around Canada's neck, pulling him into his side.

Canada smiled wanly, formulating a believable lie. "Uh, that's Maryland. America asked her to fill in for him because his boss has him doing a lot of stuff today," he explained, grinning too widely, but France was too distracted to notice, staring America up and down. His eyes lingered on her chest and long legs.

America leaned against a wall, her blue eyes down cast, only glancing up when someone walked by her. Her breasts were just barely being held in by the bathing suit top that was meant for a small C cup, and her tanned legs were crossed at the ankles. She hand her arms clasped behind her back, opening her jacket wider. Earlier, before leaving the house, she put her long hair up in a high ponytail, but her bangs fell forward to frame her face.

France hummed his appreciation, his eyes roaming up and down her mostly exposed body. His eyes stopped on the jacket she wore. "Say, why is Maryland wearing America's rag? Is she possibly more than a friend?" he asked, the tone of his voice making it clear that he'd be pissed if she was.

"No, I don't believe she is," Canada said, scrambling for another lie, "The three of us went drinking last night and she ended up sleeping on his couch."

"No, because America, Japan, and I went out drinking. We were out until late," England said as he walked up to the pair. He'd yet to notice the female leaning against that wall down the hall that every nation seemed to not be able to keep their eyes off.

Canada cursed himself for forgetting that tiny detail of information. Good thing America caught notice of the Britt and stormed down the hall. "You bastard! What did you do to me?!" she screamed, grabbing England by the collar of his jacket and slamming his against the wall. "You fucking asshole!"

Confusion twisted England's face. "What are you talking about? Who are you? I've never met you before," he started to say, but his words faded out as he stared at the female longer. His eye slid to France. His green eyes bugged, flicking between the man and woman in front of him. "Bloody hell!" he shouted, slamming his palm to his forehead.

"Britain, what have you done to this young girl?" France interjected, searching for gossip that would have America crawling into the box of shame and living there for the next century.

Both countries ignored the nosey Frenchman. America instead grinned triumphantly. "So you do know what happened to me, you stupid bastard. Turn me back now!"

"I can't," England whispered, his eyes dropping from America's.

"What was that? I couldn't quite hear you," America said menacingly, her eye twitching with barely suppressed anger. Her grip on his collar tightened. The sound of slowly ripping seams filled the air.

"I said I can't, you twat!" England yelled, getting in America's face with an angry glare of his own, "Don't you think I would have already left by now if I knew how?!"

"No because you love to watch me suffer! How the fuck can you not turn me back when you're the one who fucking cast the damn thing?!" America snarled, slamming England against the wall again. His head wrapped sharply against the wall making stars burst in his vision.

"Guys, please stop fighting. Ame- Maryland! Please put England down!" Canada said in his loud whisper looking like he had no idea what to do.

"Come on, we're all friends here," France coaxed, placing a suggestive hand on America's shoulder. It curved over her should, coming close to her chest. "Why don't you put that stupid England down and we can go have some fun."

America whipped her head around, blue eyes blazing, her long hair slapping his across the face. "Get your dirty fucking hand off of me. Stay out of this. It has nothing to do with you, you dirty lech." She slapped his hand away, somehow keeping England raised against the wall. She spun back towards him, intent on murder.

The group was so intent on the fight, France jumping in now, that none of them noticed the quiet Russian slowly approaching them. "What's all the commotion about?" he asked, standing behind Canada.

Canada let out a shriek of surprise, jumping away from the Russian. He hid behind France, glancing at Russia over France's shoulder. America startled, her eyes going wide. Her body went rigid as she dropped England and mechanically turned to stare at the Russian. She let out a sound that sounded like a cross between choking and screaming, shoving herself behind England. She watched Russia with cautious eyes from over Engalnd's shoulder.

"Oh, hey Russia," England stammered, his grin twitching.

"Hello, who is the woman hiding behind you? Is she new?" he asked, shuffling forward and leaning around England a little bit to get a better look. He smiled warmly as he usually did and froze. He stared at America, his smile still in place and his purple eyes unblinking. He stared at the length of her body for a long moment. His eyebrows slowly became friends in the middle of his brow. "Do I know you?"

"No!" America said to quickly, shrinking even further behind England, but it didn't make a difference.

Russia shuffled further to the left, keeping his eyes on her as the other countries had. "No, I'm sure I know you from somewhere. Is that Amerika's jacket?" he asked, his eyes narrowing at the piece of clothing.

America gripped the sleeves of her jacket, crossing her arms over her stomach. "No, this is my jacket. My name is Maryland, and this is my jacket, not America's. It's mine okay," she said, face growing warm as he kept staring at her in confusion, "Come on, let's get this meeting started." She took off at a sprint down the hall, swinging herself around the corner and pressing herself against the wall, breathing hard.

"How am I going to get through this?" she asked herself allowed, slamming her head into the wall, denting it, "God help me." She took a deep breath and then pushed off from the wall, swinging herself into the conference room with a flourish. "Let's get this meeting started now that the hero is here!" she shouted, immediately reverting to her usual personality.

…..

America fidgeted in her chair, watching the other nations stand and reluctantly leave one by one. All eyes were still on her. She was new kid that with the odd personality of another person they knew. She was the new attraction.

She jumped up as Belarus began to leave, running after her. "Belarus, can I talk to you? I need to ask you a favor," America said, catching up to the nation he'd had good relations with for a while back.

Belarus came to a stop, looking back with drawn-together eyebrows. "Yes… Maryland, right? What do you need?" she asked, her eyes leaving America as they traveled to follow her brother as he left. The second before rounding the door he glanced back, making eye contact with America.

America didn't need words or facial expressions to know that she'd have to hide from Russia until she got this resolved. Either that or she'd be found in a ditch from not answering his questions.

A shiver ran up her spine, and she shrank behind the taller woman. "Um, I was wondering if I could borrow some clothing. I have to stay at America's house for the next couple weeks because my house burnt down, and he doesn't have any female clothing," she explained, playing with her hair. Her tell seemed to have changed since she'd jumped genders.

Belarus stared at her uncomprehendingly for a long moment. Her lips seemed to purse the slightest bit as she considered. "That's fine…" she began and America let out a long sigh, "As long as you answer some questions."

America sucked in a shocked breath. She began choking on her own spit, bringing a halt to the exiting countries. "Um, I can… I'll go ask Hungary actually," she relented, backing slowly away from Belarus. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see England and Canada watching her with warning eyes.

"But why? She's already left and so have the other females. They're just a few little questions. I'm sure they won't be that bad." Belarus smiled. It was a normal enough smile, but she held the same aura that Russia did when he didn't get his way. They really were brother and sister.

America blanched. She knew she'd regret this later, but she took another step back towards England and Canada. "No, really. I'll be fine I think. I just remembered, I have to do something with England anyway. See you later!" She turned quickly grabbing England by the back of his shirt dragging him out of the room. Canada followed.

America could feel Belarus' eyes on her back all the way out of the room.

…..

"You better find it now," America snarled, pacing back and forth in the chamber where England conducted his little magic spells.

England growled in the back of his throat. "You know, it's not that easy, git. I can't exactly tell what the materials I used when they've been burned to a crisp. I'm doing the best I can so hold your damn horses."

"Well, figure it out! I can't stay like this!" America said, throwing her hands up. She ran them through her hair agitatedly, staring at nothing for nearly a whole minute with her hands stabbed into her hair, lifting it away from her forehead and off her back. She'd taken it out of her ponytail leaving it trailing down her back.

"He's trying as hard as he can. Just give him some time, okay?" Canada persuaded, walking through the door with a tea tray.

England sighed heavily, letting the book he had open fall to the table. He glanced up at America, trying to keep his eyes on her face. "It may help me concentrate if you actually put some clothes on," England suggested as he took the teacup handed to him. His eyes finally traveled down the length of her body. She'd taken off her jacket, shorts, and boots earlier in a hot spell, and had refused since then to put them back on.

"No! I like being like this!" she shouted back in annoyance, reaching around to the tie on her bathing suit top, "I'm going to start taking off more if you keep telling me to put more clothes on!"

"NO!" both England and Canada shouted in unison, jumping towards her with hands outstretched to stop her. America still, glaring at them.

"Just go take a shower or bath," England ordered, pointing towards the door.

America glared at him. "You don't tell me what to do," she said sassily even as she scooped up her clothes and stomped towards the door, "Don't be surprised if some of your clothes go missing."

England rubbed his forehead, waving her off. "Whatever. Take whatever you want. I don't care," he said, sliding his book back towards his.

America left the room in a huff, slamming the door behind her. "Go take a shower they said. You're not wearing enough clothes they said," she muttered to herself, throwing her clothes down on the bathroom counter. She slammed the bathroom door, causing the window to rattle in its frame.

Except that there was no window to rattle.

"Wait, what the fuck?" America wondered, staring at the broken window as a hand slammed over her mouth, stifling of her scream.

**Well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I sure did. I like writing fem!America, it's a lot of fun. And then screwing with the other characters like Russia and stuff. So much fun! There is a reason why they are all acting the way they are. Look forward to the next chapter! Review please! :D They feed me over the week!**


	3. Chapter 3: Fun with a Friend

**Here's the next chapter, I hope you have enough fun with it as much as I did! :P I just realized that I ship America with so many others *sigh* I am slowly administering my own death. Who of you out there is such a bad multiple shipper as I am? Come on, don't be shy. *raises hand***

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters**

Chapter 3: Fun with a Friend

America breathes erratically, her chest heaving. The cool prick of a blade pressed into her throat. She shifted, trying to get leverage over the person behind her. The blade pressed closer to her windpipe. She couldn't see the uninvited visitor either.

"Don't move unless I tell you too," said a familiar female voice with a heavy Russian accent, "Don't scream either or I'll stab you." She said this matter-of-factly like killing another person meant nothing to her. The female removed her slim hand slowly from America's mouth, but kept the knife in place.

"Who are you?" America growled, her voice sounding much more confident than she felt. All she wanted to do was take a shower and get her body back, but no, apparently that was too difficult for her life to accomplish without throwing something else into the mix.

"Never mind that. We're leaving, now. Put your clothes back on," the woman commanded again, this time removing the knife from her throat.

Once again, America took specific notice of the Russian accent. Her eyebrows pulled together. "Wait, are you…" she began and swung around abruptly, "Belarus! What are you doing here?! Why aren't you back in Russia terrorizing, well, Russia?"

"Kidnapping you, isn't that obvious?" she asked as she slipped the knife back into her fur-lined boot. She adjusted the bow at her back and her hair before placing her hands on her hips and staring at America.

"Yes, but why?" America replied exasperatedly, throwing her hands up in the air. They dropped to her sides with a loud slap of skin against skin.

"Because you told me that you needed clothing, and you've piqued my interest," the other female explained with a shrug.

"Oh great, that was the last I wanted to do. That and having Russia notice me." America dropped her head into her hands, giving a self-pitying sigh.

Belarus waved of her moaning. "I think it's safe to say that everyone notice you," Belarus said before glancing over her shoulder at the broken window as if she'd heard something, "Hurry up, Maryland, before that scummy Frenchman sneaks in through the window." She swung towards the bathroom door with a flick of her hair, pulling it open. When America failed to follow her out, she turned back to stare at her with a raised eyebrow. "Do you really want that thing to see you are you are now? Half naked?"

A shiver of disgust shot up her spine. Though technically she knew that she wasn't naked, when it came to that man, she might as well have been. That was something she **did not **want. "Fuck! No! I don't want him within even fifty feet of me!" she cried vehemently, grabbing her clothes on haphazardly. She followed the other female out the door and down the hall. The burst out into the overcast afternoon, hurrying down the sidewalk. It wasn't a surprise that stares followed them.

Not two minutes after they'd exited the house did they hear the telltale shout signaling the arrival of the Frenchman. "What the hell are you doing in my home, you bloody wanker?!"

America glanced over her shoulder at the large house completely surrounded by lush green plants with flowers of all shades and colors. She watched as a bright green hummingbird flitted up to the flowers. "_Pretty_," she thought before scrunching her eyebrows together, "_What the hell? I don't think things are pretty._" She shook her head and turned back to the road stretching out in front of them that led to the main thoroughfare.

They passed by a bright cherry red sports car pulled off to the side of the road. Obviously France's car. If they were lucky, France would provide a sufficient enough distraction that they wouldn't notice her absence, not until later that is. The one person who would notice right off that bat would be Mattie, but he wouldn't be able to peel the fighting pair away from each other long enough for it to help.

"So where are we going?" America asked, running her hand through her loose hair.

"My home," Belarus answered, holding the door of a sleek SUV open for America. Without any hesitation, she slid into the plush interior, quickly followed by Belarus.

…..

"Here, try these on. See if they fit," Belarus commanded, throwing a host of dresses, skirts and tops at America as she continued to rifle through her closet and drawers. She slammed a drawer shut and opened another.

America peeked out from under the mountain of material in her arms. "Wow, girls really do have a crap load of clothes don't they?" she asked, turning to the bed and depositing the mound on the blue comforter. She picked through the clothing, pulling out a skirt the looked her size. She began peeling off her shorts and jacket, tossing them next to the other clothing. Before she pulled the skirt up her hips, she pulled her long gold hair back into a high ponytail.

"You're a girl too so shouldn't you already know the answer to that question?" Belarus asked from the depths of her closet. She emerged, leaning against the door and watching the other female struggle.

"Oh yeah, I guess you're right," America murmured, struggling the pull the zipper up. It'd gotten caught on some of the material of the skirt halfway up.

"What's that?" Belarus asked suddenly, her eyes narrowing on America's back. Well, mainly the tattoo stretching from her shoulders down to her waist.

"What's what?" America asked, not turning around seeing as she was still struggling with the skirt. "Damn, are these things made to be indestructible or something? Fuck."

"That!" Belarus shouted, stabbing her finger into the middle of America's lower back, making her spasm and almost fall to her knees. She caught herself on the bed, her breath coming hard. The skirt she'd been fighting with skewed on her hips.

"What?! I don't know what you're talking about!" she shouted, glaring over her shoulder at the other nation, "And don't do that!" Belarus stared at her back, intently tracing some pattern on her back that she couldn't see.

"This tattoo. America has the exact same one," she said in a more calm voice, tracing one of the Native American symbols that made up the inside of the wings, "It has the same words and positioning. They're even eagle wings like his. Why do you have the same tattoo as America, Maryland?" Belarus smiled too sweetly, her fingers pinching America's hip making her gasp again. Her pissed aura was leaking out of her readily.

America blushed deeply, grabbing one of the sun dresses and slipping it over her head, covering the entire tattoo except for the tops of the wings. She backed away from Belarus, her hands upturned. How could she have been so stupid to forget about that tattoo and that fact that she'd had relations with the other female? Well, more like has relations with the other female though those relations are a bit strained. "Oh, we got them at the same time. It was something we thought would be cool to have," she explained quickly, "I swear there's nothing going on between America and me."

Belarus advanced on her, her eyes narrowing even more. "Oh really now, then why does it have all the same mistakes as America's?"

"It was done by the same guy." America smiled nervously, the back of her hands still pressed against her chest. The cold plaster of the wall made friends with her back slithering a shiver up her spine.

Belarus' smile thinned. "Oh really? Do you know that odds of that happening?"

"No." America shivered again, but this time it had nothing to do with sudden cold and more to do with their 'relations'. "_Pervert_," she thought at herself even as she stared up at Belarus.

"What are you hiding from me?" Belarus whispered, getting even closer than she already was. With a flick of her wrist, America's dress flew up. Belarus pinned it above America's head with the blade from her boot and making it nearly impossible for her to get free without ripping the dress.

America struggled, trying to pull her arms free of the material. "What are you doing?!" she shouted trying to look down her front as she felt Belarus' cold fingers trailing down her stomach to the waistband of her swimsuit.

With a short tug, Belarus pulled the bottom down enough for her to expose the space below her bikini line. She let out a screech of triumph, stabbing America with her finger right over her birth mark.

America's face drained of color.

"I knew something was weird about you. Wearing his jacket and his glasses. Plus you act extremely like him," Belarus explained, yanking the knife from the wall. She stepped back as the dress' material fluttered back into place. "So America, care to explain how you became female?"

"No," America said, adjusting the swimsuit bottom so it was in the same position it'd been in before, "What I'd care to do right now is get changed back into a guy."

Belarus smirked and turned towards the door. "I don't see that happening any time soon," she said, the tone of her voice clearly stating that she was enjoying the whole situation, "Might as well get to explaining." She tapped the tip of her knife against her mouth, her eyebrows raised as she watched America out of the corner of her eye.

"Why me?" America asked herself, pinching the bridge of her nose. She rubbed her face before sighing. "Fine, but you get to provide the vodka."

…..

Turning over, America buried her face in her pillow. "Dude, that was a horrible nightmare," she murmured to herself, her voice muffled by the pillow making it sound just the bit lower that it actually was. The difference was not lost on her. "Shit," she said.

She propped herself on her elbows, staring at a headboard that did not below to her. "Fuck, it wasn't a dream," she said, turning her head and glimpsing a still sleeping Belarus beside her. Her hair was a rumpled mess, making her look like she had sex hair.

Pain found its way into way into America's skull, beating savagely against her brain and the inside of her cranium. "What happened yesterday?" she said, a hand pressed to her forehead as if trying to restrain her brain from jumping for its life.

Snippets of memory played within her mind, scrolling through, but not clearly registering or connecting. The last thing she could clearly remember was her seventh glass of vodka before everything started to fade. She couldn't for the life of her assemble a coherent, strung together memory after that point.

A draft coasted down her chest and under the blanket, making her shiver. She glanced down at herself and froze.

Naked. She was naked. She was naked in bed with Belarus who was… yep, also naked she came to find out as she lifted up the comforter more. Well, that at least explained Belarus' sex hair. Never had she thought Belarus swung both ways. She knew it was common for male nations to straddle the fence so it never had occurred to her with so few female nations that they could also swing both ways, but then again, you never know everything about a person. Russia probably didn't even know this about his own sister.

America dropped her face into her hands, running them through her hair. "This is so surreal," she muttered, peering back over at the sleeping nation before slipping from the bed.

Freezing air slapped against her body causing an eruption of goose bumps along her body. She looked back at the bed longingly, debating whether just to crawl back in beside Belarus. She decided against it in the end. Scrounging around, she abducted a pair of Belarus' lacey panties and matching bra.

"How do girls even put these on?" she growled, struggling to clip the bra. Yet again, America was rendered inept of putting on female clothing. Taking them off, especially if someone else was wearing them, was so easy. Why couldn't it just be so simple with putting them on?

Her cell began to ring shrilly, playing back an old country song at her, just as she tiptoed down the hall in a thin dress and heavy coat. She fumbled for her cell, pressing it to her ear. "What?!" she snapped in a whisper.

**Oh geez, this chapter was so much fun to write. I love Belarus oh so very much and somehow I've managed to cause myself to ship AmeBel xD How many AmeBel shippers do I have out there? Raise your hands! *raises hands* Anyway, review for the sake of all that is sane! :D**

…**wait, whAT SANITY?!**


	4. Chapter 4: Counter Spell

**Oh my god, I can't believe how incredibly cliché I am in this chapter, but I'm hoping to make the result different from what you'd think would happen with this type of spell and counter spell :P Review and tell me what you think of them.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia**

Chapter 4: Counter Spell

"I think we finally figured out what the spell was and where the hell are you?! Why weren't you answering your phone? Were you ignoring me?!" came England's outraged voice.

"None of your business, that's where. It sure took you long enough though," America snapped, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. She passed an open door into the kitchen, flipping on the light. The coffee maker stood open and ready for her, the coffee left next to it. "Do you have a spell to cure headaches? I've got a raging hangover right now."

"Really? Is that where you've been? Off drinking somewhere? Do you know how worried I was about you, you selfish bastard?" Canada asked, his voice bordering on hysterical. The sound of someone crashing to the phone reverberated through the phone.

"Mattie," America began, guilt quickly swallowing her annoyance at Britain.

"No! Don't even talk! I don't want your excuses! Do you know how much I've been worrying about you?" Canada shouted, his voice actually reaching to the shouting volume of a normal human being so it was like screaming for him, "Did it ever occur to you to call? For all I knew you could have been hurt or raped or kidnapped or killed!"

America's jaw dropped as something Canada had just spoken registered in her shocked mind. "Oh my god, I just lost my virginity to Belarus," she murmured to herself, her eyes going wide.

Canada cut off, silence and heavy breathing taking over the other end of the line. "What are you talking about?" he finally asked, breaking the static silence.

"Me and Belarus! Oh my god! What is wrong with me?! When I was a guy, I lost my virginity to a man. Now that I'm a chick, I lost my virginity to another chick. I can't believe this!" America shouted, clutching at her hair, "What is wrong with my life?!"

"Wait, you and… her… Alfred, you've been screwing while I've been here worrying about you?" Canada asked, his voice bordering once again on that regular shouting volume of everyone else.

America could have sworn that she heard the crack of the phone on the other end like someone was crushing it in their fist. "No! Mattie, no! Belarus kidnapped me from England's house! I'm sorry," she said frantically in a loud whisper, slapping herself in her forehead for her sheer stupidity.

Heavy breathing came from the other end. "Well, pry yourself away from your booty call, kidnapped or not, and get over here. We've got some things to discuss!"

Immediately, the line went dead leaving America speechless. "Holy crap, he sounds like me."

She jumped out of her skin as a sleepy voice full of post-sex afterglow came from behind her followed by a pair of thin, but strong arms. "So, they're calling you back? To change you back?" she whispered still half asleep, her hands sliding under the heavy coat around America's shoulders.

"Yup," America said, smiling, "Sorry. Do we have a World Meeting today?"

Belarus hummed, her hands sliding down America's dress. "Yes, but England and France can wait a little while longer, and the others can wait for us. The meeting won't be for hours now," she said, pushing the coat from America's shoulders.

"Yes, but what about Canada?" she asked half-heartedly, shivering from a mixture of cold and anticipation, warmth already pooling in the pit of her stomach.

"He can have you back in his bead once I've had my fill," Belarus said, tugging America back towards the bedroom. She went all too willingly.

…..

"Where have you been?" England snapped as America walked through the door into one of his basement like studies, "You were supposed to be here hours ago." He stood, hands on his hips staring her down.

"Nowhere," she replied, a bright lazy smile lighting up her features.

"Maryland, you got a new dress. Is that where you've been this whole time?" France cooed like it was the most adorable thing in the world, "You look as lovely as ever."

"You could say that," she replied, a mischievous grin playing over her face.

"Or maybe you've been up to something more devious?" France asked, his perverted look coming over his face as his laughter followed.

America shrugged, smiling cutely. "Who knows?"

Canada entered the room, a sullen shadow covering his face. He took three steps into the room, his eyes downcast, before he glanced up at America. The tea tray in his hands clattered to the floor, porcelain shattering against the stones. He rushed toward America, wrapping his arms tightly around her, bringing their bodies flush against each other.

"Were you really that worried about me, dude? You shouldn't have been. I'm the hero remember?" she teased, squeezing him back. She grinned into his neck, breathing in the familiar, but extremely different scent of his brother from that of the woman he'd been with for nearly a day.

Canada went stiff, mumbling something inaudibly into her hair before shoving her away violently. America slid a foot back instinctively, keeping herself from falling back. "You're such a dick!" he shouted in his quiet voice, tears sparkling in his eyes, "I can't fucking believe you!" He punched at her, but she caught his fist in her hand, turning his own momentum against him. She threw him to the floor where he sat on his knees. "Why am I even trying to help you, you ungrateful bastard?" His shoulder shook with either sobs or anger, she couldn't tell.

"Maryland, what have you done to my poor Canada?" France cooed, "Here, let Papa make everything better." He floated over to them, going to wrap his arms around Canada who just shrugged away from him, his fingers unclenching to entwine with America's.

"France, I'm getting hungry so I'm going to go make something for everyone," England interrupted before France could start crying. That caught France's attention.

"Absolutely not!" France said, jumping to his feet haughtily, "I will make something delicious that will amaze our guest see as this will be her first time tasting my amazing French cooking." He flipped his hair over one should, sauntering out of the room.

England sighed, sitting back down. "I swear, if that guy were any more fabulous, he'd be a bag of skittles," he muttered, rubbing his eyes, "Now that that nuisance is gone, we can talk about your situation." He looked over at America, his eyes unconsciously travelling up and down her body taking in everything about her. A light blush heated his cheeks when he realized what he'd been doing.

"Yeah, what about it? Did you figure out what the spell was and how to change me back?" she asked absently, her attention focused on her crying brother at her feet. She was getting this insatiable urge to kiss him as she always did when he was in this state.

"Well yes, but there's a little problem," England began, biting down on his thumb nail, staring down at the open book in front of him. Since he'd found the passage, he'd read it over and over again for hours making sure he understood it.

America's head snapped up at that, glaring at him. "Problem, what do you mean problem?" she said, her blue eyes flaring with annoyance.

"Well, you see… the spell isn't the problem, that was relatively easy," he said, flipping through the pages to read something else.

"Then what is?"

"It's the counter spell… well, it's not exactly a spell."

America ground her teeth. "Get to the point already!" she growled, her fingers tightening around Canada's.

England raised his eyes to meet her, jealousy hidden in his green eyes. If you weren't looking for it, you couldn't tell it was even present. Obviously, it skated right over America's head. "It's basically saying that you have to bed your one true love," he explained with a lengthy sigh even as he tried not to laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. He really had been terribly drunk when he chose this spell.

America's face went blank, her mind uncomprehending, and Canada stared at him in shock, tears still trialing down his face. "What do you mean?" the pair asked with various tones.

"Well, the text is hard to translate completely. It may not be one-hundred percent exact. The original text is in old Latin so it may have some discrepancies, but that's what I got out of it," he explained quickly, trying to give them some reassurance, but it seemed to have the opposite effect.

"Well then, I'm fucked! I don't love anyone and no one loves me!" America shouted, throwing her hands up into the air that pulled Canada from the floor to his feet.

"Well, it's obviously not Belarus then," Canada muttered with a bitter laugh, dropping her hand.

"There's also something else about the spell," England said, before pausing, staring down at the open book, "Wait, what about Belarus?" He looked up at America and Canada, his eyebrows joining to create one thick fuzzy caterpillar in the middle of his brow.

Canada and America glanced at each other, pursing their lips. "None of your business," America said haughtily, running a hand through her hair, "Now what about that spell? What else is there that could go wrong?"

"You'd be surprised," England muttered, staring down at the page, "Well, to put it simply, everybody is probably going to be sexually attracted to you. It should start within the next couple hours or tomorrow. I'll advice you to stay at home or here until we figure something out, but I know you're not going to listen to me."

"You're right, I'm not going to listen to you. I'm not going to hide at home just because people are going to want to jump my bones. People want to do that all the time! I'm the hero remember!" she shouted exuberantly, jumping around to face him with her fists on her hips, a bright smile lighting her lips.

Canada and England rolled their eyes. "Wouldn't that be the heroin not the hero? Seeing as your female and all, might as well use the right terms," England pointed out, snapping his spell book shut and getting to his feet.

America waved off his suggestion, tossing her skirts this way and that. She just couldn't get used to the feeling of her legs being bare and the air rushing around them. "No, sounds too druggy for me. I'll stick to being the hero." She once again whirled towards his companions with a bright grin, making the pair blush prettily. "Hey, are you two sick or something? Your faces are all red."

"Fine, fine," England said as Canada turned away his ears glowing lobster red. He cleared his throat, looking back up at her. "W-why don't you go take a shower. You smell like sex and alcohol, and I'm sitting all the way over here. What have you been doing for the past day anyway?"

America grinned to herself, giggling a bit. "Oh nothing, just this and that, you know?"

"Did you just giggle?" England asked incredulously, one thick fuzzy eyebrow raising in surprise.

America stopped, putting a finger to her mouth. "I don't know, did I? Oh well, it doesn't matter. I'm going to go take a shower and change."

"Change? What clothes have you got besides the ones on your back to change into?" Canada asked, spreading his hands out.

"Oh, Belarus gave me some that she thought would suite me. They're dresses and what not that she wasn't going to wear. She even gave me some underwear so I won't go running around all free and commando," she explained over her shoulder, pausing mid-skip in the doorway, "I left the bag in your bedroom. Shower, shower, here I come." She left singing, letting the door slam shut behind her.

"Does she seem to be becoming girlier to you?" England asked Canada, the pair still staring at the shut door.

"I think you're right," Canada replied. They sighed in unison, dropping their heads to bang loudly against the wooden table.

**Well, there you go. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I did oh so very much! It was so so so much fun to write! I hope everybody wasn't too OOC ( xD yeah right, I know they were) Anyways, look forward to the next chapter soon. Maybe another person will figure out who America is? We'll see :P Review please for the sake of girly America's pride :D**


	5. Chapter 5: Jealousy in its Purest Form

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

Chapter 5: Jealousy in its Purest Form

America made her way down the hall, a spring in her light step. The house was quiet around her save for the light tap of her footfalls against the hardwood floor so she instantly caught the chatter of voices down the hall in the kitchen.

"Oh monsieur Russia, bonjour," France said. The clanking of pots and pans spilled from the kitchen, and yet, the Frenchman still managed to talk louder than anything. "How ever did you manage go get in?" America forced down the vomit that attempted to make an appearance. She could practically hear the hearts at the end of his sentences effectively activating her gag reflex.

"England should really learn to lock his doors," Russia said cheerily, his heavy footfalls echoing back to her.

France laughed fully. "Yes, so may I ask as to why you've snuck so successfully into England's home? Do not tell me you came here in an attempt to catch a glimpse of our little beautiful lamb Maryland." The lecherous grin was all apparent in his voice.

"No, that was not my immediate reason for coming here," Russia said truthfully, not totally denying it, "I was actually looking got Belarus or America. It's odd not to hear from them for more than a day, especially Belarus."

"Sadly, I have not seen either of them, though I do believe our dear Maryland was with Belarus most of yesterday and today," France said.

America stepped close to the door, poking her head around the frame. "_Russia can't be here. It's just not possible. France is just drunk and talking to himself_," she thought to herself. She peeked around the doorway, her eyes scanning the room, coming to rest on the visitor, Russia.

"Ah yes, Maryland. She is a bit odd don't you think?" Russia asked, his back to the door.

"How to? I think she is wonderful," France countered, his back also to the door.

"She acts an awful lot like America, she has the same vibe and personality as him, including that she was wearing his jacket and glasses. "A note of jealousy stole into his voice and his back muscles tighten in agitation.

"Do not be jealous, mon ami. It is irrational. America is a man whore," France pointed out, turning to grin at Russia.

America grumbled a curse under her breath. She hated being called a man whore, like the rest of them weren't? It may have been true, but that didn't mean people had to go around calling her one.

"She also has his smile," Russia said, ignoring France's comment, confusion lacing his words.

"Well, I believe they are brother and sister after all," France said, pausing, "That puts a damper on most of my theories about them."

"Da," Russia agreed, turning to face the door.

A squeak of surprise jumped from her mouth. She flung herself against the wall beside the door. A deep blush colored her cheeks, her breath coming in quick bursts. She closed her eyes tightly, leaning her head back against the wall.

"Did you hear that?" he asked, his heavy footsteps approaching the door.

"You are hearing things again my friend," France teased.

America let out a slow breath, taking her chance to glance around the corner. Russia had his back to the door once more, getting ready to shoot a retort back at the other man. She took her chance, bolting across the open door and up the stairs. She slammed the door to England's bathroom, rattling the windows downstairs.

…..

An hour later, America still stood in the shower, the water finally making its way to freezing. She had yet to hear Russia leave and could still hear his lively chatter with England and France. She'd yet to hear Canada join in on the conversation. The men sounded as if they were well on their way to a fourth bottle of wine.

Suddenly, the bathroom door burst open before quickly slamming shut. The shower curtain was yanked aside to shower a plastered Canada. His eyes were red-rimmed and a glass of red wine trembled in his hand.

"Jesus Christ, dude! You scared the crap out of me," America shouted, pressing a hand to her chest.

"Why?" Canada asked, his voice thick with alcohol and longing.

"Why what? You gotta be more specific here. I'm not a mind-reader," America said, ducking her head under the lukewarm spray, pushing her hair from her space.

"Why don't you love me?"

That stopped America dead in her tracks. "W-what are you talking about? Didn't you hear me earlier? I don't love anyone." An uncomfortable shiver made its way up her spine that had nothing to do with the cold. She reached for her towel, but Canada stepped in front of her blocking her way.

"But you're always calling for someone in your sleep. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't love anyone." He moved towards her with purpose, stepping into the shower despite the cooling water.

This was her seme. This was the man she slept with when they got drunk. This was the man that had her flipping to uke without any trouble. Almost audible, her flip clicked over to uke. "I don't love anyone," she said, her voice coming out in a shiver.

"Liar," the drunk Canada murmured against her skin, the glass slipping from his hand to shatter on the tub floor.

…..

An hour later, Canada and America stumbled from the bathroom sopping wet and freezing. "Couldn't you have moved us to the bed before the shower went Artic on us? My fucking balls are going to fall off it's so cold," America complained as they made the trek to the kitchen in dry clothes with hair that dripped water into their shoulders.

"You don't have balls, you have ovaries so it's literally impossible for your balls to freeze and fall off," a now quite sober, but light-headed, Canada bit back, "Anyway, if you're so cold, you should have said no from the beginning."

"You know full well that when I flip I can't say no. Fuck, I can't say no during normal circumstances," America grumbled, crossing her arms over her bare stomach.

"The hell you can't! You've done it before! Plus, you can't during normal circumstances because you're always the one to start it!" Canada countered in his quiet voice, "And if you're so cold, maybe you should consider changing into something less slutty."

America scoffed, not dropping her arms. "If I'm going to have to be a slut to get back, I may as well dress the part. And anyway, this is the most comfortable skirt I could find in the stuff Belarus gave me. Seeing as I'm suddenly amazingly sore, I think I deserve to dress anyway I want." She shot an accusatory glare at him before facing her eyes forward again.

"I'm pretty sure that that's not the way it works, and again we come back to the fact that you could have stopped me at any time-" Canada suddenly cut off as they entered the kitchen to the intense stared of three men.

England, France, and Russia all stared at the pair intently with cloudy eyes that were clearer to be expected with how much they'd been hitting the bottle. Their eyes scanned over the two, looking for any difference though obviously they found none. "That was quite a long shower you took, Maryland. You were very vocal at times. And Canada dear, where were you this whole time? It looks as if you joined our guest," France pointed out, a glass balanced between his long fingers.

America and Canada glanced at each other. They shook their heads in the same moment. Choosing not to answer, they made their way over to the small group. "Come on, we have a meeting in a couple hours. You guys need to sober up," America said, taking England's glass. She turned to move to the sink, but England caught her around the waist.

He pulled her into his lap. She held the glass out of his reach, but he wasn't after that. He pulled her close against his body. She stiffened, feeling him through his pants. He smashed his mouth messily against hers as if he'd forgotten how kissing worked.

America pulled away quickly, licking her lips. "Get off of me, you taste and smell like booze," she said, jumping from his lap and going over to the sink.

"That's not fair!" France whined, "I want a kiss too! Why does only England get one?!"

"Because he took it and you need to sober up before the World Meeting," Canada told him, taking the glass and bottle from his hands. He hurried to the sink, corking the bottle and tipping the glass towards his mouth.

"Hey, no! It's mine turn to drink. You already had your fair share," America protested, already having drained England's glass and placed it in the sink. She reached for the glass Canada held.

Canada turned away, placing the glass to his lips. "No, go take Russia," he said, pointing to the man who still had his glass.

America glared scathingly at her brother, but took to approaching the Russian anyway. "Alright, time to give up your wine like everybody else, dude," she said, standing over him.

Russia raised an eyebrow at her. "Then take it," he said and very deliberately pulled the rest of his wine into his mouth, setting the glass carefully down on the table away from her. He made sure not to swallow.

"You're a dick, you know that right?" America asked, reaching for the glass across him. Suddenly, she was yanked toward him, their mouths crushed together. America shut her eyes tightly, not pulling away.

Russia slipped his tongue into her mouth, passing the warm liquid into hers. He slipped his gloved hand around her bare waist, drawing America closer until she was almost sitting in his lap. Warmth soaked into her rear and hip where his hand molded into it. She swallowed with difficulty, pulling away from him. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, staring down at Russia.

England and France stared at the pair with wide, shocked eyes.

"Slut," Canada mouthed, laughing and grinning.

"You're all drunk and are pissing me off," America spat, storming from the room.

"Why am I the only one who doesn't get a kiss? That's not fair!" France complained like a child, flailing around in his seat, "I want a kiss! I want a kiss!"

"Oh, shut up, stupid frog face!" England growled back, slamming his hand to the table.

…..

"What's wrong with them?" Japan asked, staring at the four men who had since arriving at the meeting been groaning where they sat. All four men had their heads in their hands in an attempt to block out the light.

Out of respect, Japan tried to focus his eyes on anything but the woman beside him. It was a challenging task. The allure of her was strong and compulsory, causing his mind in all of the bad directions. He was nearly shaking with the effort of restraining himself. The task was made no easier by the revealing clothing she wore. A green strapless cloth bikini top accompanied by a long, floral green and purple skirt that looked native to Hawaii. Her clothing and tied up hair exposed the large tattoo covering her back. She had her hands threaded behind her head.

Japan gave in and cut his eyes to her.

"Oh, don't mind them. They have some pretty massive hangovers from drinking earlier," America explained nonchalantly. Her own hangover had dissolved over her hours of brooding, forming into a dull ache behind her left eye. She looked towards the men, feeling no sympathy even for her brother who had caused the sharp pain that lanced through her nether regions with virtually every movement.

"Even Canada-san?" Japan asked absentmindedly, his eyes roaming up and down America's body with fervency.

"Yep, I think they started drinking early on yesterday," she told her companion, watching the man of topic with hands now attached firmly to her hips.

"How is it even possible for France and Russia to get a hangover anymore?" Germany asked almost scathingly as he came to stand beside America and Japan.

They shrugged in response. "How is it possible for you to get a hangover anymore?" America shot back, smirking.

"It's not," Germany told her, narrowing her eyes.

"That's not what Italy says," she replied smugly.

Germany sighed, rubbing his forehead. Without replying, he turned on his heel and marched for the door. "The faster we get this meeting started, the faster we get it over," he shouted as he shoved his way into the conference room, making England, France, Canada, and Russia cringe, "Let's go!" Italy bounded after him, grinning like a fool.

"Come on, Canada. The meeting is starting," America said, grabbing her brother's arm and pulling him. She grinned, wrapping an arm around his waist in a possessive gesture, making it obvious who he really belonged to.

"Hey, what about us?!" England and France shouted indignantly followed by groans. America turned and simply stuck her tongue out at them.

**I hope you guys liked the chapter! There probably won't be a new one for somewhere possibly up to a month because of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) next month. I'll be super busy with everything. If I get a chapter up for either of my stories, it'll be a miracle. Review please! :D**

**P.S.- Happy Halloween!**


	6. Chapter 6: The Feeling of Betrayal

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia**

Chapter 6: The Feeling of Betrayal

"That's the end of the meeting for today, but we still have issues that we have yet to discuss so be here tomorrow at the same time," Germany instructed, tapping his stack of papers on the table, trying his damndest not to look at America, "Dismissed."

Every nation jumped to their feet. Each one immediately entered a state of stretching, groaning and/or rubbing their sore behinds.

"Finally done. That meeting was so long," America groaned to no one in particular, stretching her arms above her head, her joints cracking loudly. In her stretch, she gave the room's all too interested occupants a long uninterrupted view of her torso.

A pair of cold, pale hands circled around her waist. Warm breath fanned across her back, fluttering her soft blonde hair. The hands slid up and down her sides leaving a trail of goose-bumps. "So pretty," Belarus murmured, running her nose along the dip in America's back.

America let out a surprised yelp, glaring under her arm at the other female. "Warn me before you do that!" she reprimanded.

"What would be the fun in that?" Belarus asked, running her hand up the inside of her leg.

"Stop it. Stop groping me," America snapped, her cheeks taking on a slight red tint. She pulled Belarus' hand away from its path to her crotch.

"Aw, are you embarrassed?" the other woman teased, standing and pulling America against her body. "America, that's not like you," she whispered almost inaudibly so only America could hear her.

America scowled, pulling away from Belarus' muted warmth. "No, there are other people in the room including your brother and my brother," she said, poiting around at the gawking audience.

The others' eyes were wide with surprise, staring at the scene uncomprehendingly. England's and Russia's mouths were slowly making their ways to the ground while the rest had already lost control of their jaws. The only person who seemed unaffected by Belarus' show of lust was Canada.

"Maryland, Belarus, you're gay?" Italy murmured, more surprised that Belarus was also gay then the relations between the two females. The rest were shell-shocked by the whole situation, and Russia looked about ready to kill something. Jealousy flashed in his lavender eyes.

"Actually no, well, I guess so, but I'm actually bi," America explained, looking at the group of gaping fish before looking up at the ceiling. "But I guess I'm more straight in this body," she mumbled to herself, only France and Russia catching what she'd said.

"Whoa! Cool! So am I!" Italy shouted excitedly, bouncing over to her and Belarus, "We should be friends." He grinned up at her.

"But Italy, I thought we were friends already," America said, sounding just the bit dejected. Belarus looked up at her, jealousy filling her blue eyes.

Italy stared at her with a slightly open mouth for a long moment before a grin split his face. "Of course we are!"

"Yay!" America shouted enthusiastically, laughing as Italy pressed as kiss to her lips, thinking nothing of it. He pulled away quickly reinforcing that it was a simple kiss of friendship.

Germany cocked his head to the side, confusion filling him. He was pulled away by the ringing of his phone. He answered it quickly, moving into a corner as he spoke in rapid German.

When Italy pulled back, he licked his lips as if trying to pull a taste from them. "You taste like someone I know. I can't put my finger on it though," he said aloud, his smile dropping as he flipped through his memory of all the things he'd ever tasted. "Ah! That's who it is, but that's weird. You taste exactly the same. Could you possibly be-"

He was cut off by Canada placing a hand over his mouth. "Hey, Italy, could England and I talk to you for a moment? You too Belarus?" he asked shakily.

Belarus watched him suspiciously, but Italy agreed without a second thought. England shook his head, breaking himself from his shock and following them.

"I'll be coming too," Germany said ending his call and following them to the door, "Change of plans everyone. There seems to be something going on right now, so we're changing the place for the meeting. Maryland, America will be the host country tomorrow."

"Okay," America said.

"Uh…" Canada began, reluctant to tell the larger nation that he couldn't come with them.

"Oh, it's fine," America sighed, all of her earlier happiness dissipating into something less pleasant, "Might as well. Italy would tell him later by accident anyway." She sighed, rubbing her forehead. "This is going to be a long week." She pulled Belarus' arms from around her waist, pushing her towards the other four.

"Peace out guys. I'm headed home to see if Al is done yet." She raised her arms, flashing the room's occupants peace signs and a hundred watt smile as she backed out the door.

Outside the door, America leaned against the wall, pressing an arm over her eyes. "I am so done. I don't even care anymore."

"Maryland, what's the matter?" Japan asked moments later, coming down the hallway towards her. Her body relaxed slightly. Japan was her friend. He was too considerate to try and take advantage of her.

Or not.

"Oh, it's nothing, just complaining to myself," she said with a tense smile.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked, drawing ever closer and violating his own space bubble rather quickly.

"No, it's fine," she replied, trying to back away, but was cornered by Japan's arms and a table, "Hey, Japan dude, is something wrong with you?"

"No," Japan replied, his nose buried in America's neck. He kissed slowly up her neck, making the knot of unease in her belly grow.

"Hey, stop," America said, grabbing Japan's shoulders and trying to push him away, but she didn't want to hurt him. Her inhibitions quickly morphed as Japan pressed his mouth to hers and trailed his fingertips across her naked waist. It wasn't until Japan slid his hand up under America's skirt that she forgot about not hurting him.

"I said stop!" America shouted, shoving Japan away from her. He let out a surprised yipe as he hit the floor about six feet away.

…..

"I hate men. I hate this. I want to be me again!" America shouted as she slammed the door to the room Canada, England, Belarus, Italy, and Germany were in. Tears sparkled in her clear blue eyes. A few stray drops slid past her lashes and down her cheeks. "This totally fucking sucks."

The room's occupants were silent as America walked over to Canada, curling up in his lap with her arms wrapped around his neck and her eyes pressed into his shoulder where she slowly began soaking his shirt. Her glasses were pushed on top of her head. Canada wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him.

Belarus shot him a jealous glare, but kept her mouth shut.

"So, you're telling us that Maryland is America?" Germany asked slowly, his eyes darting between the female in Canada's arms and England, "How is that even possible?"

"So, that's why she tasted exactly like America. I was wondering how that was. Now I know," Italy chirped happily. He jumped to his feet, moving to the other couch with Canada and a compromised America.

"When did you ever kiss America?" Germany asked, hurt almost undetectable in his voice.

Italy placed a gentle, concerned hand on America's back. "At last year's Christmas party when Prussia managed to put alcohol in everything," Italy explained, no guilt in his voice. He didn't give him time to answer, turning his attention to America. "What's the matter?" he asked sweetly.

England, Belarus, and Germany turned their attention away from the trio and back to the conversation at hand.

America shook her head in response to Italy. She tightened her arms around Canada's neck, attempting and failing to block the emotion of betrayal that she felt towards Japan's come on. She tried to reason with herself. Japan didn't know that she was America. If he had known, things would have been different. She couldn't being herself to believe the lie though.

"Come on, America. You can tell us," Italy coaxed, smiling widely and moving around Canada's back to face her straight on, "It's alright to tell us. We're all friends here."

America looked up at Italy with red eyes, considering whether or not to tell him. He was right, they were her friends, but she just didn't know if she wanted them to know. She didn't know if she wanted even her brother to know, which was saying something seeing as she usually told her brother everything.

Sighing, America motioned Italy closer. He leaned in and she whispered in his ear what had happened. His smile dropped from his face and his frown deepened slowly as she explained. Canada could hear her and tightened his arms around her, the sudden need to protect her overtaking him.

"But… that doesn't sound like him at all," Italy spoke when America pulled back, sitting with her legs on either side of Canada's lap, her arms still strung around his neck.

She reached up and scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. "That's what I was thinking. England sort of explained why it would happen, but it still hurts," she told Italy truthfully in a quiet voice that the others couldn't hear over their own talking. "Do you feel anything?"

Italy shook his head and Canada followed, deciding to answer her question even though she hadn't asked him. "No, just a little pull, but I know who I love so I paid no mind to it." Italy smiled sweetly, resting his chin in his hands which were propped up on the back of the couch.

"It's no more different than usual, though it was almost unbearable right before the shower," Canada told her, "Maybe something changes after that, and maybe some people aren't as affected."

"I hope so," America murmured, looking over her shoulder at the other three sitting a little ways away from them. She tuned into their conversation wondering what they were talking about.

"So, essentially, she causes everyone around her, especially the men, to go into heat?" Germany asked, tapping his fingers together between his knees, "Do you know what causes that?"

"No, the spell didn't specify. Latin is very hard to translate no matter how long I've been doing it so the translations may not be one-hundred percent," England explained. Sensing her staring, England's eyes flitted towards her, catching her eye. "Is there something wrong, America?"

She shook her head, still watching him. "I want to go home," she mumbled in a little kid voice, turning back to face Canada, "I just want to go home."

Italy's smile dropped again, replaced by a sad frown.

"I'll take her," Canada offered, standing up, keeping her pressed against his chest. He tucked his hands under her thighs, keeping her skirt tight against them so that it wouldn't flap open. America tightened her hold around his neck and strung her legs around his waist. She looked like a little kid being held by their father or older brother.

"Are you sure? I could help you," England said, getting to his feet even as Canada began to walk away.

"No, it's alright. I can handle it," Canada called over his shoulder, shouldering the door open and disappearing down the hall.

"Poor America," Italy said sadly, draping himself around Germany's shoulders.

Belarus stood, brushing invisible dust from her skirts. "If there is no more to discus, I will take my leave now. I will see you tomorrow at America's," she said, bowing her head slightly before straightening and leaving.

England sighed, flopping down on the couch. "I don't know which is harder to deal with, a female America or all of the jealous/protective lovers he has," he complained to no one, leaning his head against the arm of the couch and throwing an arm over his eyes.

"Both. Both are equally difficult to deal with," Germany answered, sighing along with him and unconsciously pulling Italy. Italy grinned.

At least one person got something good out of this ordeal.

**So, my NaNoWriMo story has actually been going pretty good, but it's not even half way through the month, so I'm trying not to hold my breath. Well, I had some extra time, so I decided to post a chapter. Sadly, the next one or two chapters are going to be the last. I'm sorry to tell all my dear UsUk shippers (which includes me) that America and England will not be sharing a bed in this story. I thought I'd have them screw, but I just felt like it was too many people (they at least got to kiss right?). Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and review please! :D**


	7. Chapter 7: Returning

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia**

Chapter 7: Returning

America stared down into the carton of melting ice cream that she held between her overly warm hands. She pushed her spoon in and out of the slowly melting solid, her stomach churning sickening cartwheels as she stared into the goopy mess. For once in her short existence, well short for a country, food did not appeal to her. It only made her feel that much worse.

Sighing, America pulled herself from the couch. She dumped the half melted ice cream in the freezer without putting the lid back on. She made her way back to the couch, dropping back into the spot she'd been for the past two hours.

"Maybe I can just go back to isolationism. That would solve my problems…maybe," America mumbled to herself, staring at the flat screen television playing the Sunday football game. Once again, that did not appeal to her.

She flipped through the channels, stopping on one that was playing the new movie _'21 Jump Street'._ "Oh yeah, that's what I'm talking about. I need a good laugh," she shouted enthusiastically, punching her fist into the air and settling in to laugh herself silly. She was just getting into the movie when someone decided to knock on her door. She stopped mid shout, jumping to her feet.

"Dude, you just left like two hours ago. What are you doing back already? I can take care of myself, you know?" America shouted, thinking it was Canada so she didn't think twice about answering the door in her underwear, the pretty kind that Belarus had lent her for the time being, "Don't you have work to do?" She swung the door, a rush of heat washing over her despite the lateness of the day. It should have cooled down, but it was one of those summer nights were the night was just as hot as the day had been. A light sheen of sweat broke out across her skin.

Not so surprisingly for everyone else except for America, it was not Canada who stood outside her door, but Russia staring down at her with his lavender eyes. He wore his usual heavy coat and constricting scarf causing America heat stroke just looking at him. A few beads of sweat hung on his brow.

"No, that is why I am here," Russia said a little confused, his voice strained from the smothering heat. What he wouldn't give to be back in his country where the night were cool and comfortable. "Is America here? It is late now and I imagine he'd be home by now."

America was at a loss for words, the words she recalled sticking in her throat. Her mouth gaped open like a fish on dry land as her brain tried to formulate at least something close to a sentence. "Um," she began brilliantly.

"Maryland, you should dress," Russia commented, unashamedly looking her exposed body up and down. His eyes stopped on the coin sized birthmark protruding just above her panties. His eyes narrowed, staring at the familiar mark, but kept his mouth shut. If he was right in his thoughts, he wouldn't have to say anything.

America glanced down at herself. She had no problem being half naked, and she really didn't care anymore. Though Russia hadn't seen her naked in this body, he had seen her naked as a guy so it felt no different to her. "Nah, I'll be fine. It's hot anyway," she said nonchalantly, taking no notice of the Russian's lingering gaze as she finally regained her speech, "I don't know when Al is going to be home. It'd probably be best just to go back to home."

"No, I'll just wait here for him. He is the host country tomorrow after all so it shouldn't be a problem," Russia began, stepping into the house, but America stopped him, panic flooding her belly.

"Um, I don't know when he's going to be home. I think he's out on a date tonight. He was planning on crashing at her place, or at least that's what he was hoping to do," she explained quickly, hoping that deterred the Russian.

"Then I'll wait here just in case he does come back," the Russian said, stepping past her easily and into the house. He pulled at the scarf circling his neck, reveling in the air conditioned space. He was sweltering. All he wanted to do know was strip off his close just like America had done, but instead just shrugged out of his coat.

He dropped his coat on the back of the couch, watching the movie on the screen with a frown. He turned away from it with a satisfied smirk when the door clicked closed behind him and the bolt lock slid into place.

"So, where exactly has our lovely America been these past few days?" Russia asked, wiping the expression from his face before America could catch wind of what he was planning. At the thought of America, his skin pulsed and heat flooded his nether regions. His body ached to feel the American against him, to feel his perpetually warm skin slipping against his cool skin. Just a few days without touching the American had him not being able to concentrate and daydreaming in his meetings. It was maddening to say the very least.

Of course he'd had others while America had been M.I.A., but there was nothing like a country who could take the abuse he put out and who dished it just as fully. He didn't make a habit of sleeping with humans. They were simply too fragile.

America shrugged, avoiding meeting Russia's eyes. She was uncomfortable in his presence with how the other men had been reacting to her. So very uncomfortable. "I don't know, I'm not usually allowed to know what he's working on until close to the end of the project."

"Ah," Russia murmured, not really listening to her and instead focused on the fact that the bra she wore was just the bit too small for her. His sister wasn't small by any means, but America, well, she was a different story entirely. "How long do you think your brother will take if he does come back?" He already knew the answer if his assumption about her was correct, and was slowly moving in on her, but slowly so that she wouldn't particularly notice.

She didn't, still staring at the floor. "I don't know. On a good night he won't be home, if he got lucky probably in around three to five hours, and if he completely shot out he'll be home within an hour." She sighed, looking up just in time to see Russia grabbing her wrists and pushing her against the arm of the couch. He pressed his lips roughly to hers, his body humming with lust.

America didn't fight back, she didn't push him away or try to pull her hands free. Instead, she responded by biting his bottom lip like he liked, slipping her tongue past his teeth when his jaw unclenched.

Russia released America's wrists, sliding his gloved hands up and down her sides. The leather smoothed across her skin, eliciting a shiver from the female. He pushed his hand up her back, sliding it under the back of her bra, playing with the spot between her shoulder blades. He grabbed her hip lightly with her other hand, pressing her hips against him.

"The gloves," America murmured without thinking, arching into him, "Take the damn gloves off, Ivan."

Russia smirked, complying quickly with the angry female, returning his hands to their previous places once the gloves had dropped to the floor with a thump. He'd been right. America had been Maryland the entire time. America was the only one who called him Ivan and told him to take off the gloves, especially when he was angry.

"I knew it," he muttered against her neck, forcefully wrapping her legs around his waist. He cupped her ass, holding her against him and walking in the direction of the bedroom.

…..

"Oh my god, the sun is yellow," America groaned as the sun crawled from his bed behind the hill facing his bedroom window. Pure yellow light streamed through the crushed blinds over his window. He didn't remember them being open last night, but he did remember being slammed into them. Yes, he'd been slammed into a good many things over the night. His body was bruised and purple, his muscles aching. It took all of his strength just to sit up and stare out the window, blurry eyed.

Russia gave a contented sigh from beside America, still somehow awake. Honestly, America didn't know how he was still awake himself.

America glanced down at Russia, catching his purple gaze. "How did you know?"

"How did I know what?" Russia asked, wrapping his arms around the pillow and looking up at America. A lazy, sated smile spread across his face, his eyes and breathing echoing the blatant emotions on his face.

"How did you know that I was, well, me? You were calling my name and not Maryland the entire time," America explained, shifting and grimacing as pain shot through America's groin. Even though he was no longer female, he had still retained the soreness from Russia's intrusion. He had never realized just how much it hurt at first for woman when the man was large. He had a new respect for their endurance now.

"Your tattoo, your birthmark, your personality, and the way you called me by my human name when you got angry," Russia explained, hugging the pillow closer.

Dropping his head into his hands, America shook his head. "Was I really that obvious?"

"Yes, but none of the others have noticed because they're dense as doornails," Russia explained, smiling and crossing his legs. "How does it feel to be back to your normal self?"

"Sore," America grumbled, disgruntled, "And bruised." He sucked in a sharp breath as something occurred to him. He ran his hands over his body, first grabbing a chest that was no longer there and them lifting up the blanket. It was true, he was completely male again. Which meant that…

"No!" America shouted before the thought could be finished, stumbling from his bed and nearly taking a face plant as he jumped from the mattress. "No! This can't be! I…I don't love anyone so how could this have happened?" He was shouted at the ceiling, pacing a circle through the clothes scattered across the floor. Pain ripped through him with each step making his knees wobble. Dry cum made it uncomfortable to walk when his thighs rubbed together. He hated the feeling of dry cum on his skin.

"America, what are you talking about so suddenly?" Russia asked, pushing himself up on his elbows to watch the fretting man. Ignoring the man's problems though, he admired the length of his body. It was quite the amazing thing to behold.

America came for a sudden stop, glancing wildly around the floor. "M-my phone. My phone! Where's my cellphone?!" America shouted, turning in circles like a dog chasing his tail.

Russia sighed, pointing towards America's dresser. "There America."

America snatched up his phone, dialing Canada and pacing out of the room. Russia decided it's be best for himself just to pass out. Despite how he acted, he was dog tired and absolutely ready to pass out. He dropped his head down, snuggling into the blankets and pillow, falling quickly asleep wrapped in America's scent.

The phone in America's hand ringed twice before his brother finally picked up. "Canada," America whined the moment the phone picked up, "I don't know what to do." Tears stung his eyes and he was tempted to let them spill down his face.

"_What is it America? Do you realize what time it is?_" Canada asked in an unusually irritated voice.

"Mattie, please help me. I don't know how this could be? I-I don't love anyone. I don't know how this happened," America cried, sinking to the floor.

"_Is that America_?" a pair of sleepy voices asked Canada. They were obviously England and France.

"_America? Are you back to normal? Who'd you sleep with?_" England asked bluntly, taking the phone from Canada who immediately fell back to sleep. They'd tell him what happened later.

"Russia," America groaned, dropping his head to the floor and slumping onto it, "This can't be happening." He could almost hear England rolling his eyes on the other end of the line.

"_Stop being a drama queen. Don't worry, I got the translation wrong. You just had sleep with someone who had truly compatible chemistry with you so stop freaking out already. Russia's not your true love_," England explained with a sigh. The silence was deafening.

America stared at his floor, anger and irritation bubbling up inside of him. "Really? You made me worry like crazy and it was something simple like that?" America asked, the anger coming out in his voice.

"_I already explained to you once that Latin is extremely hard to translate_-" England began, but America cut him off.

"Yeah, whatever," America snapped, cutting off the line and slamming his phone onto the table. The screen cracked loudly, but he could have cared let. "I need sex." Yes, sex fixed everything. He stomped back to the bedroom, straddling Russia as he climbed onto the bed. He woke Russia with a hungry kiss.

Russia raised his eyebrow at the sight before him, an aroused, angry America. "Yes, America? Is there something you want?"

"I'm talking," America said simply, pressing his lips back to Russia's and threading his fingers through his pale hair.

…..

"America, you need to stop eating, you're getting fat," England told the dirty blonde who sat with his head on the table, slurping at a soda without enthusiasm. He mumbled something around his straw, but didn't look up. "What did you say? I can't hear you. Speak up."

"My chest hurts. I feel like I'm going to puke," America muttered, sliding his drink onto the table. He groaned, moving his hand under his shirt to press it to his stomach. "This suuuuuucks."

"What is the matter, mon ami?" France asked, draping himself over America.

The strong scent of flowers hit America's nose. He retched, slapping a hand over his mouth. "Get… off," he huffed, his stomach rolling as his nose was assaulted by the perfume France seemed to be coated in.

"But why? What is ailing you? Maybe I could help," France said seductively, pressing against America's back. He slung an arm across the other man's chest, running his hand through his victim's hair.

"No, seriously France, get off," America growled as his stomach continued to roll. He could feel his body readying itself to vomit. His muscles tensed, his body shivering with the effort to keep his food down.

France frowned, moving so that he could see America's face better. "America, is there something wrong?" he asked, his eyebrows becoming friends as he spied the American's clenched eyes and the sweat dripping down his face. "Are you sick?"

France's scent hit America harder than ever. His stomach decided to give. "I'm going to puke!" He shot to his feet, overturning his chair and the table in his haste to exit the room. Finding the nearest restroom, he burst into a stall, not bothering to shut the door and finally let his body expel the food in his stomach. He was dry heaving by the time the others found him again.

"Jesus Al, are you alright?" came Canada's quiet, concerned voice from the doorway, his footsteps tapping lightly against the tiled floor as he approached the stall America was in.

"Yeah, I actually feel lots better," America called back in a high-pitched voice. It was not the kind of high-pitch that you get when you're scared. It was more the high-pitched voice of a female. "Honestly, I do feel better," he said as he exited to stall, his shuddering and nauseous feeling having disappeared.

Canada gasped along with the rest of the bystanders who had followed him into the bathroom at the sight of America. "Maryland?" France asked bemusedly for the entire group.

America frowned, glancing at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and laughed. "Dude, I'm a chick again," she said, grinning. Now that she knew how to get back to being male, she didn't mind so much. She could have some fun now. She looked down at her abdomen hidden beneath her shirt, thinking about the little bump between her hips that was being hidden.

"Um, hey, guys, uh, do any of you know if a nation can get pregnant?" she asked slowly, looking up at the gaping group, a little horrified. It wasn't four months after that question that America was in the hospital screaming her lungs off in pain.

…..

"And that's how you were born!" America finished with a dramatic sweep of his arms and a huge grin that stretch from ear to ear.

Anya, his daughter, stared up at her mother with wide, shocked eyes. She had no idea how to respond to that. She'd know that her birth had revolved around a magical spell by her Grandpa Iggy gone wrong, but had she expected this. _Definitely not_, she thought to herself, ignoring the pancakes that slipped of the end of her fork.

"Uncle Mattie, is that true?" she called over her shoulder, following her voice and swinging around to face her uncle who was cooking more pancakes seeing as her father was a complete pig when it came to food.

Canada sighed, turning to his niece with an apologetic smile. "Unfortunately, yes, every word of it, though he probably could have phrased it better and not given you so much detail," he said, shooting his brother a glare that just bounced off his thick skin without causing any damage.

Anya dropped her head into her hands, trying to decide what to think of the whole thing. "So you're telling me that I was conceived during my mother's quest to become a man again? How… romantic," she muttered sarcastically, shaking her head in denial.

"What are you guys talking about?" Russia asked as he entered the house without knocking, coming into the kitchen and immediately going to give America a long, intense kiss.

Anya watched her parents, pursing her lips. "I will never be able to look at you guys in the same way ever again," she said, sitting straight and propping her elbows up on the table, fork still held in her hand.

"What do you mean?" Russia asked as he and America pulled apart.

Canada sighed and answered for her. "Your husband just told your seventeen-year-old daughter about how she came to be in existence."

Russia looked between his daughter, who looked like a female version of himself with America's nose, and America. He grinned, taking a seat beside her. "Well, it's about time you found out, da? It'll happen to you one day too, don't worry, but remember, I will destroy any man who touches my daughter, especially the one who gets you pregnant." He grinned wickedly, his aura going the same lavender of his eyes.

"Dad! Jesus H. Christ! I'm seventeen! I'm not going to get pregnant any time soon! And I will never get a spell put on me that turns me into a dude!" Anya cried, jumping from her chair and imbedding her fork in the table, cracking it down the middle. She'd inherited her mother's strength. Her face burned with embarrassment.

"You never know!" America and Russia chirped, and Canada said. Her parents grinned, loving that fact that they'd been able to make their daughter uncomfortable. It was a game they loved to play, and often they won it.

Anya let out a frustrated groan, turning from the two men and stomping back to her room. "I can't deal with you two mental cases!" she shouted, slamming the door behind her. Honestly, she loved her parents though, and she was happy she'd been brought into this world by them. She wouldn't have it any other way.

**THE END**

**I hope you guys enjoyed my little story. I sure had fun with it. I hope I don't need to do much explaining. I also needed a way to end it and just thought the last part would be perfect. I could completely see America and Russia messing with their daughter all the time. Review please!**


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